■rrnvrp^ ^iMMiW^ 'VAuVdail-i \civcicin:i^ -^/. .'0JI]VJJO>^ '''"'', JIIVJ iVJ-JO' AN [LLUSTRATED A\I) DESCUliTlVl-: GUIDE 10 THF. GREAT RAILWAYS OF ENGLAND, AND THEIR CONNECTIONS WITH THE CONTINEKT. o r t o n & Ci^ o //; r r ON THE WING. Our life of to-day is a life of change which is constantly developing. The world has grown older, wiser, and more epicurean. If we eat less and drink less, we make up for these shortcomings by an imperious demand for more subtle enjoyments. Our claim is for new scenes, new emotions, and new phases of life, and one result of this is, that we are constantly on the wing. We crave for change as our forefathers craved for the excitement of boxing, bull-baiting, and rat-killing. In our wider intellectual sympathies we bring the world within our ken, and railways and steamboats minister to our wants. One man essays to reach the North Pole, a second takes a holiday trip through Central Africa, whilst a third passes from continent to continent until he has girdled the earth in his peregrinations. These are the more marked features of our life of to-day. In its modest phases, it flits to and fro between those localities which are famous from their associations with the past or fashionable from their connection with the whim of the present. In the quieter portions of the country the older residents migrate to the sea shore and enjoy the sea air at one or other of the watering-places scattered round our coast. Their numbers testify to their wide popularity and the general advantages they bring. Men who are weary of work, ecjually with men who are weary of monotony, find renewed health springs from the change, and they gather new life as they linger on the borders of the sea. Whitby and Morecombe, Brighton and Ilfracombe, Scarborough and Torquay, illustrate the various positions from the far north to the extreme south. At one and all there is the same teaching, a desire to reap the charm of the hour, and they find that which they seek, either in some quiet nook where the ceaseless plash of the waves on the shore brings a luUing sense of repose, or amid some brilliant throng where excitement kills care. Amid such conditions men and women find new charms in life and reap fresh enjoyment from the undying law of change. The great railways of England minister to the wants thus indicated. In the summer time the night express carries thousands to the Scotch mountains and Scotch moors ; in the late autumn the same travellers pass south, and find a temporary resting-place at Eastbourne or Ventnor, Bournemouth or Hastings; whilst in the early days of winter they bridge the Channel by way of Calais or Boulogne, and flit with the swallows to warmer and more genial climes. Amid it all, the love of change and novelty remains paramount. Each locality furnishes fresh sources of interest, and each year brings a livelier sympathy with the teachings of the past. Our great cathedrals in their pinnacled beauty are appealing to a more educated taste and a more appreciative sense. The remains of mediaival abbeys, splendid in their decay, compete for supremacy with the ruins of the castle embosomed in ivy or overgrown with moss. Men clamber over the stones or rest under the shadow of their walls, and recall the days when the Church was supreme OSH* -tf^ 0)1 the Wino-. and carried alike the temporal and spiritual swords. All these scenes of interest are scattered with a lavish hand throughout our English soil. Memories of the past arise at every step. The battle-fields where English freedom was fought for, won and secured, are to be found far and wide. 'J'he modest homes where great men were born constitute shrines to which human sympathy clings with an ever-growing intensity, and towards which the steps of the traveller turns with an ever-increasing zest. Stratford-on-Avon is a spot where devotees from every quarter of the world are constantly thronging. Tn a lesser but not less true sense, the locality of the Ayrshire ploughman is becoming a central thought to millions of English speaking men. All these things are true of our own soil, and they are equally true with respect to the various places on the Continent. It would not be difficult to point out localities in Germany, France, and Italy that would vie with the noblest of ours at home. We have no mountain scenery like that of Switzerland, no winter cUmate like that on the borders of the Mediterranean, and no wonder like that of the disentombed Pompeii. We have teachings that come close home because they are our own ; but, in a wider sense, no education can be described as perfect, that has not embraced Continental thought and associations. This can only be done by personally mingling with the people on the Continent. This feeling is widespread, and large masses of our people are constantly availing themselves of the opportunities which exist for travelling both well and cheaply. The railways have formed connections with the Continent at various points. Thus the Great Eastern have perfected their arrangement for connecting London with Amsterdam, Rotterdam, the Rhine, and the North of Europe ; the South Eastern with Paris and the Continent by way of Folkestone and Boulogne ; the London, Chatham and Dover with Brussels and Cologne by way of Dover and Calais ; whilst the Brighton links with Dieppe and Normandy, and the Great Western and South Western unite the south coast with Cherbourg and the Channel Islands. From the various points here indicated, the foreign railways branch forth, bringing into close connection every part of Europe. In these days not to have seen the Continent is to have been excluded from some of the most exquisite sights that the world can yield. The far-famed beauties of the Rhine, with their vine-clad sides and ruined castles, must be seen to be loved. The glories of Alpine scenery and the vigorous stimulus of its strong air bring back new conceptions of life as they bring back new tone to the nerves. The unique beauties of Venice, absolutely alone in their special characteristics, linger like the refrain of a rich melody on the memory, and once seen are never forgotten. In A\-ignon, Marseilles, and the cities that border the Mediterranean, we have associations that carry us back into the far past, and living facts that give charm to the life of to-day. When London is shrouded in fog, the sun shines and flowers bloom at Nice, Cannes, and the long sweep of the Riviera. Lower down is Genoa, with its palaces and terraces rising ever upward, giving finish and beauty to ^)^ . — cjP_ "i aS^ t:^ On the Wiiio. one of the loveliest positions in the world. Still further south we reach Pisa with its falling tower ; Florence rendered immortal by the great names enrolled in its history, and enthrallingly beautiful by the matchless treasures that are enclosed within its churches and palaces. In the far distance lie Rome, Naples, and Pompeii : the first with its myriad claims, the second with its matchless beauty, and the third with its unapproached interest as the most marvellous relic in the world. All these and a thousand other sources of interest, information, and wonder are scattered over the highways of the Continent. All these claims to attention and appreciation are accepted hy our keen cousins across the water. They imbibe knowledge with a passionate zest, and measure distance with a careless indifference. With tliem a visit to Europe is regarded as a pleasant interlude among more serious questions. A trip across " the herring pond," and a scamper through the Old World cities is reduced to tlie level of a holiday outing. The perfect finish of ocean steamers and the vivid recognition that change prolongs life is producing a somewhat similar feeling among ourselves. Cheap through routes available for two months add to the temptation, and wc thus find that the class of those who travel is ever growing. We now append three routes for the Continent which embrace the most special points of interest. Italian t/iivugh line. tonnerre. Dijon. Aix-les-Bains. Chamberry. Cenis Tunnel, etc. Turin. Milan. Verona. Venice. Turin to Brindisi. Parma. .MODENA. Bologna. Ancona. FOGGIA. Bart. Brindisi. Turin to Naples. Genoa. Pisa. Leghorn. CiviTA Vecchia. Rome. Naples. AND From Pa) is to the South via Dijon. Lyons. Avignon. Tarrascon. Arles. Marseilles. Toulon. Cannes. Nice. Monaco. Monte Carlo. Bordighera. San Remo. .'i^P ^amonutbn. OBcinonniiiH. UNDERGROUND. The construction of the Metropolitan Railway illustrates very vividly the density of London life, and the mode in which engineers have grappled with the difficulty. To run a line from Paddington into the City three courses were open. One was to choose the road level, and thus practically block all other traffic. This was obviously inadmissible. A second was to construct it on pillars level with the first floor windows as in New York, or on brick arches similar to that of the Blackwall line. Both these ideas were not only expensive but open to many other objections. A third course remained, which was to run beneath the level. This was finally adopted and received in common parlance the title of " The Under- ground." The original idea has been largely extended, and that which at the outset was a mere branch from Paddington to Farringdon Street, now runs from Aldgate, through Paddington, to Hammersmith and Richmond, and through Notting Hill Gate, Kensington, and ^^'estminster, to the Mansion House Station, forming the completion of the inner circle. At first sight few things could look so little needed as a Guide to the Metropolitan Railway, yet in reality there are few lines in England where such information is more essentially necessary. It may be pointed out that almost all the great railways which have termini in London, either have running powers over some portion of the system, or are placed in direct relationship with it. To make this clear, it will be better to mention the more salient points connected with each station. The present terminus of the Metropolitan Railway is at Aldgate, which is the station nearest to the Docks, the Tower of London, and the Fenchurch Street Station of the Blackwall Railway, from which ready access can be obtained to any of the eastern parts of London. The next station is that of Bishopsgate : here are the termini of the Great Eastern Railway and the North London Railway. Passing onward the next station is that of Moorgate Street ; here several of the larger railways have booking offices, and their trains run into this station. These railways are the London, Chatham, and Dover, the Mid- land, the Great Northern, and the Great Western. Passengers can book through to any station on their respective lines. Aldersgate Street Station is the next, and is the point nearest for St. Paul's Cathedral, the General Post Office, and the locality of the general ^Lanchester trade. The next station is that of Farringdon Street, near to which is the Holborn Viaduct and New- gate. One step further on is King's Cross, where the junction is formed with the Great Northern and Midland Railways ; whilst Gower Street is the point nearest to the British Museum, and also the station nearest to Euston, the main terminus of the London and North Western Railway. After which we arrive at Portland Road for Regent's Park, and Baker Street for St. John's 9 B ^ ^^^.' Underground. Wood, where passengers have to leave their carriages and pass over the bridge into the St. John's Wood Raihvay Station, the hne of which is now extended to Harrow. The next station is Edgware Road, the great junction of the line, for here the train sweeps either to the right or the left ; if to the right then through Bishop's Road Station to tlie Hammersmith branch. At this point the Metropolitan Railway joins the Great Western line (the main ter- minus of which is at Paddington), and passes onward through Westbourne Park, Notting Hill, and Hammersmith, to Kew Gardens and Richmond. At Notting Hill there is a junction with the middle route for Addison Road, Kensington, whence the line continues to Gloucester Road Station, rejoining the Inner Circle or main line at that point. To complete the Inner Circle it is necessary to return to ELdgware Road. After starting, the train sweeps to the left at the junction and passes through Praed Street, Notting-Hill Gate, South Kensington, and AVestminster, to the Mansion House, which is the terminal station on this part of the route. In a rough way this indicates the grouping and connection of the Metro- politan Railway, the more specific details of stations and the points of interest which are nearest to them are given at page 40. Special care has been taken to protect passengers from mistakes, by placing at each station a notice board, on which is indicated the destination of every train before it enters the station. We turn from these matters of detail to point out that the Metropolitan Railway runs through a district that in certain respects has no equal in the world. No capital can boast of parks equal to Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens. No museums equal our South Kensington and British Museums, in fulness of resource, untold wealth, and abundance of example. No gallery combines the same ground- work of scientific teaching and artistic treasure, illustrating alike the past and the present, as our own National Gallery. More splendid l)aintings illustrative of particular schools, or particular men, occur in almost every gallery of note in Europe, but in its combined aspect it may challenge any that can be named. It has risen out of chaos, and has before it a splendid future In a somewhat similar sense the surroundings of Westminster Abbey are absolutely unique. No other spot exists where the most illustrious examples of the past are entwined so closely with the virile life of the present, while in mere architectural beauty it can fairly hold its own. No one Avould compare London with Paris so far as mere beauty is concerned, yet on our Thames Embankments there are phases of grouping which will vie with the most superb points of view of the Paris Quays. All these localities, with numberless others, lie on the route of the Metropolitan Railway. Those who want to see London should remember that, like all great cities, its objects of attraction and interest are endless ; they grow out of every struggle and are increased by every epoch. Yet in a rough way there are not above a dozen special sights whose j reputation is world-wide, and all of these can be readily reached by the I Underground Railway. % '° I "^ a THE TOWER. Before we descend to the platform of Aldgate Station, we feel bound to avail ourselves of our proximity to the Tower, and pay a visit to that venerable fortress. Passing down the IMinories, a wide thoroughfare occu- pying the site of an old City ditch, and named after a convent of minoresses suppressed in 1593, we soon emerge upon an open space. Looking across the wide moat of the fortress, now laid out as a garden and drill-ground, there rises boldly and commandingly, behind a double line of battlements, the glorious old pile known as the llVii/e Toiver, the most remarkable relic of Norman architecture in England. Built for William the Conqueror, by his famous engineer and leader of the church militant, Bishop Gundulph of Rochester, this keep of the ancient fortress, in its simple grandeur, contrasts most advantageously with the pretentious buildings of more modern date which surround it. On his way to the entrance-gate the \isitor passes Tower Hill, the former place of execution. Sir Simon Burley, the faithful friend of Richard II., was the first whose head fell here beneath the a.\e, in 1389, and the long list of victims of royal tyranny, religious intolerance, or political intrigue closes in 1 746, with Lord Lovat, the Jacobite, who was the last person beheaded in this country. At the Lion's Gate, near which the King's menagerie was kept until its removal to the Zoological Gardens, in 1842, we provide ourselves with tickets, and are then conducted to the principal sights by Warders, attired in the costume of Henry VIII. 's body-guard. Crossing the moat we find ourselves in the " Outer Bail." On our left rises the Bell Tower, in which the Princess — afterwards Queen Elizabeth — was kept a prisoner. The Governor's lodgings adjoin it, the council chamber, in which Guy n r The Tower. Fawkes and his accomplices in the Gunpowder Plot were subjected to a "rigorous" examination, forming part of it. On the right yawns the Traitors' Gate, through which prisoners brought by water were admitted ; and nearly opposite to it stands the liloody Tower, the traditional scene of the murtler of the sons of Edward IV. Passing through a gateway of massive and melancholy aspect, with a portcullis hanging above it, as befits a prison, we thus enter the " Inner Bail." Right in front lies Totuer Green, the place of execution of Queens Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, of Lady Jane Grey and the Earl of Essex. Together with other victims of those bloody times, they have found a last resting-place in the unpretending church of St. Peter ad Vincula, which we see at the bottom of the green. But our attendant Warder, anxious to perform his round of duty as expeditiously as possible, scarcely allows the memory to linger over the historical associations which a visit to this ancient fortress, prison, and royal residence call up before us. Hurriedly we are conducted through the Horse Armoury, which, in addition to the effigies of tw^enty-two knights in armour, contains an invaluable collection of ancient weapons and military equipments. A staircase leads thence to an upper floor, and passing through the wall of the White Tower, seventeen feet thick, we reach Queen Elizabeth's Armoury, thus called because it contains some spoils from the great Spanish Armada. An effigy of the Virgin Queen occupies a recess at the lower end of this apartment ; but visitors will turn with more interest to the dark dungeon in which Sir Walter Raleigh was confined for twelve years, and to the block and axe used at the last execution on Tower Hill. Returning by the way we came, we once more find ourselves on Tower Green, and are then conducted over the White Tower, perhaps the most dainty arsenal in the world, the trophies formed of rifles, sabres, bayonets, and ramrods being most creditable to the taste of the men in charge of this famous repository of warlike weapons. Si. John's Chapel, which, extends through two stories of the Tower, is typical of the rude vigour of the age in which it was con- structed. It is one of the last apartments into which the visitor is con- ducted, but certainly not the least interesting. When our Warder finally takes leave of us we issue once more upon Tower Green, opposite to the castellated Wellington barracks. A squad of incipient guardsmen may possibly occupy our attention for a few minutes. But before leaving a locality so rich in historical associations we ought to have a look into Beauchamp Tower, named from Thomas de Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, who was confined within it in 1397 ; and which is popu- larly, though erroneously, supposed to have likewise been the place of imprisonment of Anne Boleyn and Lady Jane Grey. We should, before leaving the Inner Bail, turn into the Record Tower, and have a look at the Crown Jewels, which are kept there in an iron cage. It may here be stated that the Armouries and Jewel House are thrown open free on Mondays and Saturdays, but that one shilling is charged for admission on the other days of the week. G n'D I* THE HEART OF THE CITY. Alight at Moorgate Street Station, and pass through the block of houses facing the station so as to reach the main thoroughfare that Ues beyond ; then turn to the right, when five minutes' walk, will bring you to the Bank of England, Mansion House, Royal Exchange, and Guildhall, each one of which has associations, either in the present or the past, that render them worthy of being seen. Round these centres moves the great whirl of busi- ness life, keen, pushing, and ceaselessly at work. No words can better convey the scope and force of its activity than those written by Heine, '• Send a philosopher to London," wrote he, " and set him at the corner of Cheapside ; there as he listens he will hear the world's heart beat." 'I'his is not only poetically beautiful, but substantially accurate. The City of London is en rapport with the whole world ; for within one hundred yards of the Bank of England a man may hold converse with every quarter of the globe. At the Submarine Telegraph Office, telegram follows telegram from every corner of the earth. East, west, north, and south yield up their secrets or pour out their wants within that Central Hall. Close by lie waiting those restless brains, ever on the watch to seize the phase of the moment by which to coin fresh wealth, either through the alchemy of journalism or the energy of commerce. On the outside pavement the tide s\vee])s to and fro. No sight is more impressive than the ceaseless rush : in its midst may be seen men of wealth, energy, and character either swaying in the great crowd or being jostled out of the path. Here are bankers and merchants, stock-jobbers and brokers, the wealthy and the broken-down, the light-hearted and the bankrujn. all moving in the great tide, and rising or falling in the gallant struggle for existence. Whilst in the neighbourhood, London Bridge and the traffic which passes over it, or which lines the river's bank, is well worthy of being seen. '^